


She Deserves Better (Than You)

by JustClem



Series: An Amber's Price [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, Identity Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Mutual Pining, POV 2nd person, POV Second Person, Rachel Amber's POV, Rachel's POV, Second person POV, amberprice, sad af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustClem/pseuds/JustClem
Summary: "It's nice Rachel we're having."That's how you find thatmaybe, just maybe,Chloe Price is worth more than just dirty looks and sneers and eyerolls and gossips about a broken home--andmaybe, just maybe, you're in love with her.~Chloe doesn't need to have you ruining your friendship by turning it into something more. She doesn't deserve that. All she needs is a friend. And you're willing to be her friend and nothing more, for both of your sakes.You know she'll never view you as something more than a friend. And you've long since accepted that.Friendship is far more important than fucking each other.





	She Deserves Better (Than You)

**Author's Note:**

> Written at 11:45(ish) on a Friday afternoon, April 5th 2019. Finished at 13:47 on the same day. Started to do a little editing at 16:21. Finished the editing on 16:47.
> 
> I posted this in celebration of the LiS comics returning, which we all know, will give us Da Feels.

"It's nice Rachel we're having."

That's how you find that _maybe, just maybe,_ Chloe Price is worth more than just dirty looks and sneers and eyerolls and gossips about a broken home-

-and _maybe, just maybe_ , you're in love with her.

You can't help it; you smile and ask, "What?", delighted and curious.

"I mean- _weather_! It's nice weather!"

Your delight and curiosity dims down. You smile, look away into the passing trees and the average view of the Arcadia forest that isn't really a forest.

She offers to share her music with you. You're glad you applied blush on your cheeks this morning, otherwise she'd be able to tell how flustered you are.

**~**

You're in the hospital bedroom, looking bad and feeling worse than you look.

Your parents are outside. They _better_ stay outside, otherwise you'd break another plate.

Chloe is with you, holding you, letting you cry your eyes out. You hug back with one arm only because it still hurts to move the other one, the one with the bandaged stab wound. She's in an uncomfortable position; still sitting in her plastic chair, yet leaning onto you. She doesn't seem to mind the discomfort, so it's up to you to mind.

You've only known her for- what? Three, four days now? Less? Yet… she's willing to give so much to you, ready to sacrifice everything for you.

You know it's not healthy for her to want to attach herself to you like this, but you're flattered she wants _you_ as a friend, and that feeling overthrows precaution.

You're not going to use her and throw her away when she's unusable. You can't and you never will do that, not to her, not after what you two have been through.

You're bonded to her and she's bonded to you.

You two are Rachel and Chloe, never to be separated, ever.

"Chloe. Sleep with me."

You're not sure if it's a plea or a request or a command that must be obeyed. You're too drained to care, physically, emotionally, astrologically, whatever. You're too drained, period.

She doesn't say anything. You appreciate that. You're not in the mood to say more than you need to.

She lies down next to you, and you notice how careful her movements are. It's like she's afraid of hurting you by moving. Your heart wants to break all over again. You swallow. She keeps a distance from you. You know it's uncomfortable for her, so you wrap an uninjured arm around her waist, pull her close, and bury your face in her shirt, wanting to hide from the world and from Chloe herself.

Chloe freezes, for one, two, five seconds, and you hear her gulp before feeling her arms wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into her.

One hand strokes the crown of your head. You're surprised at how tender the motion is, and how relaxed it makes you. Didn't she use to have a cat? Is that why she's so good at petting you?

"Go to sleep, Rach."

Her voice is soft, low, and it reminds you of an angel's hum.

"I can't," you answer, perhaps a little too honest. "I want to leave this place." _With you,_ you don't say.

"Me too."

"I hate it here."

"Me too."

"My entire life is a lie."

You have no idea that the worst experience of your life has yet to come, and that experience will be the last moments of your life.

Her hand that's been stroking your lock of hair stops. You feel her chest compressing as she exhales, and you stiffen when she strengthens her embrace. Your shoulder aches, but you don't mind. It's worth the pain, being this close to Chloe, that is.

"I'm sorry."

You shake your head, your voice cracking when you ask, "Why are you sorry?"

It's funny, you don't think you've ever been this emotionally vulnerable. Or have you? You're not sure. Perhaps you have been, on multiple occasions, and you simply pressed your emotions down and put on a dashing smile because that's what you're taught to do, because that's who you are.

"Because you have to go through this, when you shouldn't have to. When nobody fucking shouldn't have to."

It takes you a moment to remember what you two are talking about.

"You've gone through hella worse, Chlo, when you shouldn't have to. When nobody fucking shouldn't have to."

You hear her breath hitching. You feel her surprise as her embrace loosens. It's your turn to tighten the embrace, to hold her, to hold both of you together as one of you breaks.

"Y-yeah… I guess so…"

**~**

School is different. Life is different. You are different.

Being with Chloe is different.

Everyone is surprised to see the superstar and the nobody become friends in less than a damn week, and is offended to find that even after weeks, months, years, the friendship never falls apart.

At the beginning, you thought your crush on her will disappear overtime, replaced by a more honest, welcomed trust and respect of a friend.

The trust and respect - and more - grows, and so does the crush.

Chloe is happier. You are happier.

Together, you two are the happiest.

You love her so much it's not even fair to call it love anymore. It's an addiction, a need, a feeling of 'whole' when she's around, a feeling of something vital missing when she's not.

You will never know that Chloe feels the same way for you, that everyday she thinks of confessing to you or maybe just kiss you out of the blue because, unlike you, she isn't good with her words, she's no poet nor Shakespearean kid.

You won't know how madly in love she is with you even after it's too late, even after the storm made its appearance and ruins everything.

It's sad.

**~**

Your wrist itches, and the tattoo guy said it'll keep itching for another two, three hours, depending on how sensitive your skin is.

It's worth it, the itching that is. Many things are worth it if it means you get to see that goofy smile on her face.

"Holy shit, Rach! You actually did it!"

You smirk, rubbing the sides of your wrist, not touching the tattoo directly, afraid you'd ruin the ink or your skin, or something. "Told you I would."

She jumps up and down, hands balled into fists, looking like an overgrown child. "I can't believe you did it!"

Her smile is fucking gorgeous and fucking contagious, and you find yourself smiling the biggest smile you can muster. "Quit smiling like a dork, you dork," you say, shoving her back.

She doesn't bother pretending to be offended that you've pushed her, instead, launching herself at you and hoisting you up, twirling you around like you're a teddy bear, like you're _her_ teddy bear.

You don't mind much, but you like to keep up appearances, so you swing your fist to her back and demand she put you down, and after a joyous one minute, she does as she is told.

She looks at you and smiles like you're everything to her. You smile and hope it shows that she's everything to you.

"I can't believe you're serious about us getting the fuck out of here…"

Your hands are still resting on her shoulder. You don't want to move it. You hope she doesn't notice, or if she does, interprets it as a platonic thing and nothing more. "Of course I'm serious. This is the most serious I've been in my life."

It should scare you, that your words are your truth. It doesn't.

Her smile doesn't disappear, but turns into something more tender, more open. "You really wanna get out of here, huh?"

You snort, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

And Chloe grins a devilish grin, ruffling your hair and snaking an arm around your neck so you can't escape her hair-ruffle attack. "Of course I do, ya little rascal!"

"Hey! I'm older than you!"

"Age isn't defined by age, it's defined by smolness, Rach!"

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Not when you're a kid, it doesn't!"

**~**

You're sitting on a bench at the lighthouse. The sun had set minutes, maybe hours ago. Yet you still stare at the emptiness of the night as though you find it beautiful. She's lying down on your lap, looking at the same view, and you're playing with the strands of electric blue hair, her beanie snuggly resting on the side of the bench.

You pretend that this is the sort of thing friends do. You hope she believes that sentiment.

Chloe doesn't need to have you ruining your friendship by turning it into something more. She doesn't deserve that. All she needs is a friend. And you're willing to be her friend and nothing more, for both of your sakes.

You know she'll never view you as something more than a friend. And you've long since accepted that.

Friendship is far more important than fucking each other.

Chloe doesn't deserve having you ruining anything, burning everything to the ground all because you couldn't contain yourself and your emotions.

She deserves the best, and you try to give her exactly that.

"How are we going to afford to get the money to bust out of here?"

It may be a sudden question for her, but you've long since expected it. You believe you know her in ways she doesn't know herself, the same way she knows you in ways you don't know yourself. "Don't worry, Chlo, I have everything under control. We're busting out of here as soon as I graduate."

She shifts to look up at you. You see her try to gauge you, wondering if you're really as confident as your tone suggests.

"Really?"

You give her the smile you know always comforts her. "Really."

You don't tell her how you're getting the money, even when she wants you too. You don't know why. She doesn't push, so it's okay. She doesn't need to know every version of you, only the best one. She deserves that and more.

She smiles the crooked smile you love, and you feel yourself relax, expecting it to be the end of this conversation. You feel yourself growing tense when she keeps looking at you, her eyes full of adoration and wonder and worry.

"You know I can help with the money, right? I'll bet Two Whales will have no choice but to accept Joyce Madsen's punk-ass daughter."

The sentence is followed by a throaty chuckle. She looks up at you, expecting you to chuckle along with her. Her smile fades when you can't bring yourself to. You hate it, that she's not smiling, but you know it's necessary for you to say, "We both know this shithole of a city will only chew you up, no matter how badass you are." A familiar flame of anger sparks itself alive, and you look away and into the starless night sky so you can avoid looking at her and avoid the anger. "But don't worry. I'll handle it. We'll get out of this shitty place, find ourselves a place to settle, and we'll never have to come back here again."

It's quiet, for a long, long while.

"Damn," she says, her voice wavering. "You're the hella awesomest friend anyone can have, Rach."

"Oh, so now you're saying hella too?"

She chuckles and says nothing. You pretend not to notice her gaze on you. You pretend that you find the sky not boring. You pretend you've never wanted to kiss her. You pretend you hadn't fallen in love with her since before she knows who you are, since before you two met.

You pretend.

That's what you're good at, after all.

"Rach, I…"

You pretend you don't hear her. You're still trying to keep yourself from pulling her into a kiss. It's been getting harder and harder, lately. You're ashamed about it.

You'll never know that she wanted to confess her love for you, because you're not the only one who wants to kiss her best friend, and you're not the only one who's scared of ruining something special you two labelled as 'friendship' when nothing was ever platonic from the beginning, and nothing ever will be, between the two of you.

You'll never know that you're not the only one blinded by fear of ruining a pretend friendship.

You'll never know how deeply she has fallen for you too.

**~**

He's dirty. He's rough. He sees you like he sees a perfect angel who needs his protection from the world, who'll never do him any wrong and loves him just as he loves you. He's greedy.

You give him what he wants, and he gives you what he thinks you want.

You pretend.

That's what you're good at, after all.

You pretend you love him. You pretend you don't fuck him solely because he has the money you need to bust you and Chloe out of this hellhole.

"You know the kid loves you, right?"

You're lying in his dirty, unmade, uncomfortable bed, stark naked and high because you can't ever fuck him sober, because you'd probably end up throwing up if you try to fuck him in the right state of mind, and you don't like throwing up.

"Who?"

"Price," he says, already all-dressed up to do his dirty drug business - which is a sad excuse of a business. "You know, the messed up kid that's been following you around like a lost puppy."

You look up at the dirty ceiling of his dirty fan, feeling gross and tainted and numb because this is the only way you can escape, the only way to help Chloe, to make her dream a reality and, by extension, your dream a reality too.

You never say this to anyone, never even wrote it in your own diary, and it's such a deep of a secret calling it a mere secret feels like cheating; Your dream has never been escaping. It's been her happiness, always has been, even if she doesn't know it, even if you never plan on letting her know. You just pretend that your dream is running away, because hey, keep doing what you're good at is what they all say, right?

"No, Frank. She doesn't love me. Not like that." Not the way you secretly want her to. "She'll never see me as more than a friend."

And you'll never know how wrong you are.

And by the time she gathers the courage to tell you, you're dead, rotten, bagged up like a cluster of trash, buried in the only place she feels home in Arcadia Bay, a place she keeps coming back to, unaware of the horrors that lies deep beneath.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit, I think this is the first time I've written a one-shot that ends in such a fucking bleak way… I love it.
> 
> This is my headcanon of who Rachel is and why she fucks Frank even though Chloe is her "girlfriend". I know it's probably untrue, but I like to imagine that Rachel and Chloe did love each other, and Rachel assumed Chloe didn't love her like that so she kept making out with other dudes partly to forget about Chloe and her love for Chloe, and partly to keep up appearances.
> 
> Chloe, meanwhile, was also afraid, so she kept bottling her feelings up.
> 
> Also, man, this story is superb nice. It feels right to write the emotional kind of shit in 2nd Person.


End file.
